


Tomorrow Was Always Going To Be Too Soon

by Misslethwaite



Series: Don't Bring Tomorrow [1]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: 1am drabble, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, F/F, Heavy Angst, implied foxxay/goodeday (kind of), this hurt to read more than it hurt to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 03:43:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17035985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misslethwaite/pseuds/Misslethwaite
Summary: 'The trouble is, you think you have time.'





	Tomorrow Was Always Going To Be Too Soon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyRavenscroft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRavenscroft/gifts).



> I wrote this in about 15 minutes at 1am during a time of heavy dread, anxiety and moping. Almost all of this has not been edited (aside from some lines here or there that needed rewording for coherence when I reread it) and is for the majority now as I wrote it then. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but I was convinced it may be worth posting here.

_By tomorrow I'll be left in the darkness_  
_Amongst your cold sheets_  
_And your shoes will be gone_  
_And your body warmth no longer beside me_  


It was cold in the room. The walls a bleaker white than the academy had been. What was left of limp blonde hair fanned across the pillow, like a jaded halo, lacking the golden lustre it once possessed. The clinical green colour of the pillow a sharp contrast to the pallid contours of the face that lay asleep upon it.  
_“Stay with me. You promised you’d stay.”_  
The broken lilt came every hour, breathless begging between the lips of the one who never left her bedside, who clutched her thin hand to her heart. They had all missed it. They had missed the missteps, the stumbles and secret solitary nights of sickness.  
Misty had been the one to find her, the forth morning she had not come down to join the others for lunch, the very impromptu gatherings she had instigated in the hopes to bring them closer. They had all been so close but apparently not close enough to see what she had concealed. Prostrate on the floor of her bedroom, her cold skin pale and clammy. There had never been such a sudden frenzy of united activity.  
Madison must have broken more than one law, driven to a point of reckless abandon to reach the nearest hospital. This was beyond them now. Beyond spells and swamp mud. She had never been sick. She wasn’t supposed to get sick. And yet that sickly pallor that would stay imprinted in their memories said otherwise.  
Hours had passed since then. A private room. A quiet consultant confession. A suffocating sadness that drew so many in and out at all intervals of the night. Madison stood outside in the frigid air, a growing pile of ash and cigarette ends at her feet as she lit another. Queenie reluctantly lurked in corridors, promising to return with something to eat, to drink, to call the academy for news of the students left behind unaware. Zoe perched in a chair in the corridor, head heavy with the need to sleep but unable, watching doctors, nurses, patients pass by. Only Misty remained in the room, would not alight from her place, settled like a stone unmoving, watching, waiting, weeping. She replaced the ring, still with its newlywed sheen loosely upon the lifeless finger, the band too big for the thin bone now. It was not supposed to end like this. Too soon. Too soon. But end it did.  
The endless whine rang through the silence, broken only by the sudden discordant wail as the taller blonde was pulled away by half a dozen hands to make room.  
_“I can bring her back. Let me bring her back. Bring her back!”_ Misty fought her way through the nurses, fought against the hands that tried to pull her back, away from the prone figure. Queenie’s arms caught her about the middle, pried her flailing form away, futile fists pummelling the voodoo witch’s chest as as Madison stood in the doorway, silent tears upon a shocked face. Zoe’s head buried against her shoulder. _“Let me go! Let me go, DELIA!”_ the haunting screech of anguish was unbearable, but the lifeless woman made no move, motionless and pale. _“Let me get her back!”_  
_“You can’t. It’s over.”_ Queenie clung to the inconsolable witch tighter, ignoring the bewildered, sad looks of the staff who slowly left one by one, sidling past the group of girls to leave them with their grief. _“She’s gone.”_  
Misty’s knees buckled, barely held her upright as her face dissolved into distraught sobs, shaking her unruly mane of messy curls as she clutched at Queenie’s shirt with knuckles as bleached white as the prone woman’s cold skin, the sheets she lay so still upon.  
_“I can do it…”_ a cracked whimper. A simpering whine. A wavering breath. And a sorrowful shake of the head.  
_"You can't...You can't. Not this time..."_

**Author's Note:**

> Opening lyrics/title inspired by Daughter's 'Tomorrow.'


End file.
